


A Home

by navaan



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Batfamily Feels, Early in Canon, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 14:40:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3414461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/pseuds/navaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a little scared boy living with them now and little Dick Grayson still misses the home he knew. It's maybe time to decide where things should be going from here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Home

**Author's Note:**

> You can also read and comment on livejournal [here](http://navaan.livejournal.com/186569.html).

Alfred opened the door for him and helped him out of his coat. “Welcome home, sir,” the man greeted him in the particular tone of voice that meant something was up. He had spent the evening out as Bruce Wayne, making sure he was seen and remembered, but also that tonight of all nights he wouldn't be seen as too irresponsible and silly. Because he had taken in an orphan – and the last thing in the world he wanted was for people to think they needed to protect little Dick Grayson from his temporary guardian. 

But he forgot all about that now and his mind started racing. “What's wrong, Alfred? Something is wrong, isn't it?” 

His eyes immediately scanned the hallway for any signs of a break-in, for things out of the ordinary, but nothing was out of place. Maybe the signal had been lit and someone wanted his attention. The search for the Graysons' killer was still taking up most of his time, but he knew that there had been an incident at Arkham only yesterday and there were rumors about a new hitman in town. Had new victims turned up? With a careful look towards the staircase, making sure they boy wasn't around, he started moving towards the library, the cave's hidden entrance, to go down and check what exactly had happened, but Alfred stopped him by clearing his throat and then looking at him worriedly. “They boy is not in his room, sir,” he said. “Not in the house, to be precise.”

Which meant Alfred had already looked for him. 

“He ran away?” Bruce froze, his eyes immediately going back to the stairs. The hall was dark and warm. Outside the glittering snow had lit up the night considerably, but the wind had a nasty chill to it. For a little boy out on his own it would be cold and dangerous tonight. It was probable that he would be making his way back to the city, back to the orphanage maybe. “Maybe he found his way up to the attic?”

“You gave me a well enough scare when you were little, sir, that it was the first place I looked.” 

“No sign of him?” 

Alfred shook his head.

“Why would he try to run away?” he asked, more worried than angry. “It's late and it's dark and cold outside.” And he could only think of a few reasons why the boy would even try to get back to Gotham on his own. It was foolishness. They had taken him in to protect him, to keep him from the unpleasantness that was involved with being placed in the system right after your parents died, and yes, because Bruce had seen some of his own grief on the face of young Richard Grayson and had sworn to help him. Apparently he'd not done a good job of convincing Dick of that yet. 

“Sir, if I may remind you? The boy is grieving. He's alone in a house with a butler he doesn't know and a man he knows even less about. This isn't his home and he misses his parents.”

Which was so obvious, so familiar. He stopped in his tracks. “I thought we were all getting along,” he said quietly, because that had been what he'd been thinking, with the boy being polite and interested when Bruce was around. He'd even smiled at breakfast when Alfred had made him hot chocolate. But he should have known that nothing was as strong as the devastation of losing his parents. And he himself at least had been allowed to stay in his home with someone he knew and had a connection with. “We need to find him. Alfred, can you check again starting with the East Wing. I'll look outside.”

He reached for his coat and was already half outside the door before Alfred could object. But he heard the man call after him: “Tell him there are fresh blueberry muffins in the kitchen waiting for him and by the time you return there will be some coca to warm both of you up.”

It seemed Alfred was sure his charge wasn't in the house anymore, or he at least thought Bruce a good enough detective to get to the boy before him wherever he started his search. 

Outside it was dark already, but he had no trouble seeing with the snow reflecting the light of the moon and the manor's lights behind him. He decided to start searching by walking along the manor's walls, checking for any sings of footsteps. And there they were... Right beneath the window that was for the time being leading to Dick's room. He looked up. The window was shut now and there was no light visible in the room. It was also a long way up from where he was standing. A long way _down_ for a boy of Dick's size. But there were the obvious signs of the snow having been disturbed on the ledge, and the small footprints in front of him leading away from the house of course, of course. He knew that even at his age the boy was a trained aerialist and, as Bruce was learning now, like most kids his age he had some more tricks up his sleeve.

Alfred would have easily found the trail if he'd had more time to search. But he'd probably expected Dick to be like Bruce had been after his parents died: always searching to hide, to be alone with his grief and pain. It had taken Bruce a while before he'd learned to turn his pain into action. Perhaps Dick was quicker in his resolve. Perhaps he simply wanted to return to the circus, to the familiar smells and sounds of the home he'd been ripped from. 

Bruce didn't have to go far at all, the footsteps leading him towards the high metal fence that surrounded the grounds, not the gate. And he could see the boy from far off, dressed in the light blue jacket that they'd picked him up in at the orphanage. He was sitting on a thick tree branch, knees drawn up and his back turned towards the manor. “Aren't you getting cold up there?” Bruce asked, lightly.

The boy's eyes met his immediately, his brow furrowed.

“Couldn't sleep?” Bruce asked.

He shook his head.

“Where did you want to go?”

Dick shrugged, then seemed to think better of it and said: “Not sure. Just wanted out.”

Bruce nodded in understanding, staying right were he was, looking up at Dick and weighing his options. “Did you want to go to Gotham? Why did you not ask Alfred to drive you?” he asked, realizing that neither of them had explained to the boy that it would have been an option at any time if he wanted to go somewhere. Apparently both of them had expected Dick to not want to return to the city where he'd seen his parents fall to their deaths only weeks before so soon and hadn't made much clear beyond the essentials.

Another shrug was his only answer.

Perhaps it was time to try something else. “You could have left through the gates,” he pointed out.

Dick looked down at him again. “High places are better for thinking,” he explained, sounding as if this was something adults were supposed to know.

He nodded. Part of his life was spent on rooftops, but he didn't want to explain that he preferred dark places for thinking - and brooding. “Ah, I see. That's why you left your room via the window. That makes sense.” It would be easy to smile, to use his Bruce Wayne persona and make light of the situation, but instead he watched the boy calmly and seriously. 

It was hard to tell in the darkness, but it seemed Dick was blushing a little at being figured out. “I'm sorry,” he said.

“I'm just glad that you're still in one piece.”

“I'm sorry,” he repeated and his voice wavered a bit this time. For Bruce that was unfamiliar territory. He wasn't used to having kids around. But again the whole situation seemed unbearably like something he'd been through himself. 

“Come on down and we'll go back inside. Alfred has muffins waiting for us.”

He expected Dick to climb down slowly, cautiously. Instead he stood up on the branch without hesitation, eyeing the snow carefully before he jumped right off the branch in one fluid motion, coming to stand just a foot or so away from Bruce. _Impressive_ , he thought, remembering how long he'd had to train to master this kind of agility. He didn't voice his praise, but he patted Dick's head and pulled him closer, leading him inside without the boy protesting or pulling away. 

For the first time since the orphan had been thrust into their lives, Bruce Wayne stayed at home late into the night. Batman still needed to bring justice to the parents' murderer, but tonight Dick needed Bruce more than he needed Batman. They shared the muffins and some cookies and Bruce let him choose his favorite program on TV, both of them talking about inconsequential things and avoiding all the horrible things Dick wanted to rather forget about tonight. 

Later, after he'd fallen asleep in the armchair in front of the fire, Bruce carried him up the stairs. Alfred watched them as Bruce came up. “The boy needs a home, sir,” he started, voicing what had been on both their minds for days now.

Bruce nodded. He was still not sure this was a good idea. To bring a kid into the life he led between being Batman and playing at being an irresponsible playboy, seemed like a risk. But it felt right. “We can give him one.”

Apparently satisfied, Alfred nodded and walked past them down the stairs. “I'll bring you your sandwiches to your... study. The one downstairs, sir.”

“That sounds wonderful,” he said, moving forward, as Dick shifted drowsily in his grip. 

In his room he made sure to put the boy to bed and pull the covers up to his chin, hoping that this time he would be able to sleep without nightmares. 

On his way down to the cave he pondered the next steps he'd have to take. Finding Zucco was still first priority, but Batman had a whole city to protect. 

“Sir, the signal has been lit. It seems your friend at the GCPD wants your attention.”

“Make sure, the boy is all right,” he cautioned, before he got into the Batmobile. “I'll be back in time for breakfast.”

Alfred nodded. He wasn't smiling, but the answer evidently pleased him.

They would have to be a little more careful with a child in their home. But surely they could make it work. He was Batman. He could work it out one step at a time.


End file.
